


In the Night Also My Heart Instructs Me

by MickyRC



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (also in the dream), (in the dream), Claustrophobia, Crowley Has Nightmares (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Verbal Abuse, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), via an elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: The words won’t come to him.  Not because the nightmare has faded, like most dreams do, but because he can’t pick something to say.  Hell was scary.  Hell and the hands and the elevator would have sent him trembling into Aziraphale’s arms as soon as he woke up.Hell was the best part of the dream.Sometimes, Crowley’s nightmares go a bit further than a scare.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 174





	In the Night Also My Heart Instructs Me

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. Nightmare h/c is apparently just my wheelhouse at this point, it keeps happening and it’s not gonna stop any time soon.
> 
> This is, however, the first time I’ve actually written the nightmare, and as such, there’s some darker stuff in here than usual. If you’d like a more descriptive warning than what I could fit into the tags, check out the end notes, it’s all there. And if you’ve got any questions, or if you just wanna yell at/with me, I’m also on tumblr [over here!](https://one-with-the-floor.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The title is from psalm 16:7; thank you Bucky for finding that for me!

Crowley is sitting in Hell.

He’s not sure why. He doesn’t think he’s ever  _ sat _ in Hell; certainly not since the Earth got populated enough that they started diverting Disposables topside and lost the bulk of the cleaning crew. It was a rank, smelly place before, but nowadays it’s just disgusting. Whenever Crowley has to go down, he walks in, stands the whole time, and leaves as soon as he can escape.

But here he is, sitting. And it’s not really bothering him.

What  _ is _ bothering him is the demon glaring down at him. Beelzebub is standing across the table, leering down at him grotesquely. A shadow moves behind them. Dagon, hovering over their shoulder. Giving him nasty looks. Making his skin crawl.

They’re angry with him. He’s not sure how he knows. Beelzebub doesn’t usually yell, they prefer to threaten and coerce. But someone is yelling. Yelling at him, he thinks. It might as well be them, really.

The next thing he knows there’s a pair of hands on each of his arms, dragging him away. He stumbles, falls. Something hurts, but his brain can’t seem to decide what. He’s grabbed again, hauled up, and now he’s scared, now he’s twisting away and he thinks he  _ should _ be screaming but he can’t hear it if he is. The hands tear him across the ground, drag him down a grimy hall, and then toss him against a wall.

He’s in trouble. He is in so much trouble, and Hell has finally lost patience with him. End of the line.

Then the wall behind him  _ dings, _ terrifying and cheerful in the gloom. Crowley falls back as the wall slides open behind him, and the hands shove him into the elevator, and slam the doors closed behind him.

This is only barely another chance, Crowley knows, somehow. He’s barely managed to get away with a warning. Hell just doesn’t want to deal with the mess of getting rid of him quite yet.

He’s shivering, balled up in the corner of the elevator as it zings happily upwards. He’s terrified, more scared than he was when Beelzebub was yelling at him, more panicked than when the hands grabbed him. His heart’s going so fast he feels faint, feels like he might pass out there on the floor. He can’t breathe.

He won’t make it to the Bentley, he realizes. It’ll be a miracle if he makes it out of the building, the shape he’s in. He needs help.

He needs Aziraphale.

The elevator  _ dings _ again as it reaches the ground floor. Earth. Home, really. But Crowley doesn’t get out when the doors slip open. He can barely get to his feet.

There are no numbered buttons on the inside of the elevator. Just up, and down.

Suddenly he knows that Aziraphale is in a meeting of his own, upstairs in Heaven. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know why. But he is absolutely sure.

For some reason that he can’t explain and can’t resist, he strains upward and pushes the up button.

This trip is shorter. No sooner has he tapped the button than the doors  _ ding _ open again. And there, looking down at him in surprise, is Aziraphale. Is his angel.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asks. The way he’s standing, it feels like he’s looking down his nose at Crowley.

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice feels hoarse and sounds worse. It takes so much energy for his tongue and lips to form a word.

Aziraphale’s face is garbled, just a little. Crowley’s not sure if it’s the horrible bright light behind him or the tears in his own eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” Aziraphale is saying. “This is  _ Heaven,  _ Crowley, you don’t belong.”

“Az— _ Aziraphale, p-please—” _

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “What, demon?”

“I—I need you.”

He reaches out, tries to show Aziraphale what he needs. Desperately tries to make him understand he needs to be held. That he needs help.

Instead, Aziraphale’s face twists. He looks  _ disgusted. _

“What’s this?” A new voice. A new figure steps into being over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Looming. Making his skin crawl. Gabriel sneers at him, too, but Crowley can’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s face. It’s horrible. It’s  _ wrong. _

He thinks he might be sick.

“The elevator’s malfunctioned again,” Aziraphale says, unaware— _ uncaring _ —of Crowley’s distress. “Brought up a demon.”

“Eurg,” Gabriel says, disgusted. “Send it back down. We don’t need any of that filth up here.”

“Of course, Gabriel.”

Then the doors are closing. A burst of panic gives Crowley enough strength to shove his foot between them, and he reaches for Aziraphale again.

“Please,” he gasps, “please, angel.”

For a heartbeat, he thinks it’ll be okay. Aziraphale will stop acting like this now that Gabriel’s gone, will come and soothe him and comfort him and help him.

Then Aziraphale  _ sneers _ at him, and Crowley’s heart shatters.

“Oh, you stupid, stupid demon,” Aziraphale says, the gentle coo in his voice stabbing Crowley through the chest. “Why would I help you? You’re nothing. A speck of dirt on the floor. You mean nothing to me.”

“No,” Crowley pleads.  _ “No,  _ angel, I  _ love  _ you!”

Aziraphale makes another face of disgust. He uses the toe of his shoe to push Crowley’s foot back through the doors. “You’re  _ nothing,” _ he snarls. “Remember that.”

His face never falters. There is nothing but hatred there. Then the doors  _ ding _ closed, and Crowley is plunged into darkness.

And then his eyes shoot open.

* * *

Crowley has never woken up screaming. An instinct, maybe, not to shout out his weakness for the world to hear. His heart, though, and his lungs, feel like they’re trying to tear their way out of his body. He  _ feels _ like he’s screaming, panic bubbling out through his limbs and making him shake. He can’t get it to slow down.

The bed shifts next to him. There’s a light on. There’s always a light on, he’s the only one who sleeps but he never sleeps alone. Aziraphale likes to lie next to him and read.

Oh, god,  _ Aziraphale. _

He’s moving before he can think, sitting up and turning away to stare at the wall as his breaths keep coming too heavy and his heart keeps trying to batter its way right through his ribs. He doesn’t want to look behind him yet. It’ll hurt.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

Crowley shudders. It’s the same  _ voice. _ Of course it is, of course his mind has a perfect replica of Aziraphale hidden away. Built up from centuries of meetings. Made of memories tucked away to savor in the bad times.

It wasn’t ever supposed to come to life on its own. Not without his permission. It wasn’t supposed to turn on him.

“Dearest?” There’s a hand on his shoulder, warm and light and he can’t stand it, not after the bone crush of the hands in his dream. Crowley can’t help flinching. He’s waiting for the soft grip to turn cruel.

And suddenly he can’t do it anymore. Can’t take Aziraphale  _ looking _ at him, staring at his shivering back and reaching for him. Can’t be in that room. He flings the blanket back and rushes for the door, ignoring blindly when Aziraphale calls after him.

Crowley hits the hallway and skids to a stop, suddenly realizing he has to figure out where to  _ go, _ not just what to run from. His heart is pounding so hard he’s dizzy with it, and he can’t  _ think, _ can’t—

“Crowley?” Hurried footsteps, muffled on the bedroom carpet, heading for the door. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

One thought sparks in Crowley’s head. He will break if he sees that sneer on Aziraphale’s face again. He can’t risk it.

He runs again. Past the kitchenette—too open, no door to close. Past the stairs down to the shop—too far to go, too much noise and chaos outside. He reaches the door to the bathroom—small, lock on the door—and shoves it closed behind him, throws the bolt, hauls himself into the gap in the corner where the bath doesn’t quite meet the wall. He pulls himself into a tight ball, hiding away where he can curl up and pretend he doesn’t exist until he stops hearing Aziraphale’s voice telling him he’s nothing.

“Crowley?” He flinches. Aziraphale knocks on the door, hesitant. “Crowley, please, talk to me. What’s wrong, darling?”

Crowley hugs himself tighter. He wonders if shrinking down to atom size would help squeeze out the thing wriggling and squirming around in his chest.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale’s trying the door, now, making the handle rattle and shaking Crowley’s nerves even further.

He wants to answer, Crowley realizes. He wants to throw himself into Aziraphale’s arms and cry into his shoulder until the only words left in his head are “I’ve got you” and “it’s alright” and “just a dream.”

But the thought of opening the door makes him want to throw up. He can’t. It’s not worth the risk of seeing Aziraphale’s disgust if he wasn’t quite dreaming.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice has gone soft. He isn’t pulling on the door anymore. “Please. You’re scaring me. Please, will you come out?”

He wants to. Oh, he wants to so bad he can feel Aziraphale’s arms wrapping snug around his back already, but the sneer is still burning through his mind’s eye. He has to know, first, that it was only his brain being cruel to him, and not his angel.

He shudders a breath. “Tell… tell me you—”  _ love me. _ He chokes on it. He can’t just ask. If he asks, how can he possibly know that it’s real?

What else can he do?

“Crowley, darling,” Aziraphale calls, a touch of relief in his voice. “May I open the door?” Crowley shivers and presses his face against his knees, trying to stave off the rush of shame at the reminder that his clever hiding place is only a miracle away from out in the open. He thinks he must whimper, because Aziraphale’s tone goes even gentler.

“I can’t stand the thought of you hurting alone,” he says. “Crowley, I love you so much. I can’t bear not being able to help you. Will you let me in, please?”

Crowley slips. He lets out a whimper, and then a sob, and then his fingers snap faintly, hidden between his chest and his knees.

The lock clicks. Crowley’s heart starts pounding again, in his ears, in his trembling hands, convinced he made a bad choice, absolutely sure he just set himself up for torture.

Aziraphale opens the door slowly. His stockinged feet are quiet on the bathroom tile, creeping towards Crowley’s little nook like he’s approaching a spooked animal.

“Oh,  _ darling,” _ he whispers, and Crowley breaks down again.

He pulls his head down into his lap and pulls his knees in tighter, crying into his own thighs. He can’t quite get enough air like this, jammed between the tub and the wall and his body, but it doesn’t really matter, he’s sobbing too hard to breathe properly anyway. Aziraphale’s still there,  _ hovering, _ and Crowley’s too worn out to fight off the thought that he must be laughing. Looming over a stupid, broken demon and just waiting till he’s had his fill of the sight before he’ll drag him out and throw him away. The only thing Crowley has going for him here is that the angel can’t fit between the tub and the wall. Can’t get to him. He can sit there and tear himself apart for as long as he wants before the angel is able to touch him.

He hears a dull thunk, and looks up instinctively. Aziraphale is taking off his dressing gown. And he’s not laughing. No chuckling, no trace of a sneer, just—worry. His forehead is creased in two lines down the middle, the way it does when he’s anxious. And that makes Crowley cry harder, because he really is just a stupid demon, isn’t he? Aziraphale’s not an angel. Aziraphale’s  _ his. _ And he’s stuck himself where he can’t reach.

Aziraphale strips off his socks and drops them uncaringly on the floor, and oh god Crowley’s fucked up that much, made him  _ that _ anxious, and he can’t watch anymore. His forearms make the world nice and dark when he presses his eyes into them. He’ll just go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.

But then suddenly there’s a hand in his hair, touching him so lightly, and so  _ warm _ he leans into it before he knows what he’s doing. Then his eyes snap open and he stares up.

Aziraphale has climbed into the bathtub. He’s kneeling there, at Crowley’s end, hunched over the side so he can reach him. The porcelain rim is cutting into his middle, and his pajamas are rumpled and stretched uncomfortably tight around his shoulders, but he reaches for Crowley just the same. When Crowley looks up at him, mouth gaping slightly, tears still streaming down his face, Aziraphale catches his jaw with his other hand. Starts running his thumb over his tear stained cheek while the other hand brushes softly through his short, untidy hair.

Crowley just stares at him. Now that he’s seen him, he can’t look away. Can’t do anything but soak in the look of concern, of care, of  _ love _ on Aziraphale’s face.

It was just a dream.

The rim of the tub jams against his knee and catches on his foot as he scrambles over it, but that barely slows him down as he throws himself into Aziraphale’s arms. He’s crying again, probably never stopped, really, but now it’s relief and thanks pouring out of him instead of pain. Aziraphale catches him, hauls him close, and leans them both back against the wall so he can cradle Crowley against his chest. “Shh, shh,” he coos, rocking back and forth soothingly as Crowley sobs into his shoulder. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. You poor, dear thing. I’ve got you now, I’ve got you.”

Crowley shudders and clings to the back of Aziraphale’s shirt. He twists his fingers into the fabric and tries to choke out words, tries to ask for what he needs. “Tell me—please, angel, please, tell me—” He can’t get it out. The words stick in his throat like a blessing his damned body can’t accept.

But Aziraphale, wonderful, unbelievable Aziraphale, tries anyway. “I’ve got you,” he says, searching for the right words. “It’s alright. It was just a dream, we’re fine, I’m here. I love you.” And that last hits the knot still sitting in Crowley’s chest. Loosens it up a little. Crowley keens into Aziraphale’s soft shirt, and Aziraphale immediately bundles him closer and starts chanting into his hair. “I love you,” Aziraphale promises, over and over again. “I love you, you matter to me so much, Crowley, I love you, I love you, you’re everything to me.” He keeps going, keeps telling Crowley he loves him until he stops sobbing and can breathe mostly without choking.

Crowley is the one who pulls back. Slowly, he slumps down, loosening his grip on Aziraphale to lie cradled on his lap. When he looks up, Aziraphale is smiling down at him, soft, but still a little worried. Crowley is surprised to see tears on  _ his _ cheeks, as well. “Hey there, angel,” he says weakly. He’s not sure why, his brain isn’t quite firing right yet, but decides it doesn’t matter when Aziraphale lets out a startled laugh. And not  _ at _ him, either.

“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale replies. He starts petting Crowley’s hair again, and Crowley can’t help closing his eyes and curling into the affection. “Back with me now, then?”

“Think so.” Crowley feels Aziraphale’s shudder of relief and presses his face into the angel’s tummy. “Think I’m okay.”

“Oh thank—” Aziraphale chokes, making Crowley look up in alarm. Aziraphale’s swiping at his eyes. Like he’s trying to stop himself from crying before he can start.

“Angel?” Crowley’s hand hovers between them, wanting to help and not at all sure what to do.

Aziraphale takes another shaky breath.  _ “Fuck, _ you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley rushes, starting to feel a little bit frantic, but Aziraphale catches his hand and hauls him closer again. Burns out the fear with the warmth of his arms.

“No, no no no, Crowley, it’s not your fault. None of it’s your fault. I was just worried about you, my love.”

“...oh.”

“You ran out so fast, and then you locked yourself in here, and you weren’t answering me and… I couldn’t…” Crowley can’t stand the tremble in Aziraphale’s voice. He reaches a hand up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and lets him lean into it as he sinks it into his fluffy white hair. Aziraphale relaxes immediately.

“I’m okay now,” Crowley says, and if he’s even convinced himself, it’s not really a lie.

Aziraphale nods. His throat bobs for a moment, holding back a breakdown he won’t allow himself until he knows Crowley is one hundred percent back on his feet. Crowley loves him for it as much as he wishes he wouldn’t hold it in. “Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale says once he can speak more smoothly. “I—you know I’d do anything for you? If I could have my way, you would never hurt another day in your life, my heart.”

Crowley stares up at him. He feels like he can’t breathe again, so he digs his face into Aziraphale’s shirt and just focuses on lining up the in and out motion of their chests.

“Will you… do you think you could tell me about it?” Aziraphale asks, almost a whisper. “Only if you want to, not if it’ll make it worse, but—”

“Yeah.”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna tell you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sounds so relieved, it almost makes Crowley brave enough to uncover his face.

Not quite, though. Not for this. “It was, er… was...” The words won’t come to him. Not because the nightmare has faded, like most dreams do, but because he can’t pick something to say. Hell was scary. Hell and the hands and the elevator would have sent him trembling into Aziraphale’s arms as soon as he woke up.

Hell was the best part of the dream.

He’s crying again, he realizes, getting Aziraphale’s shirt wet. He can feel a sob building in his throat, and rushes through. It’ll be worse to say when he can’t even talk. “You said—you, ngk. You, you told me—said that...”

He wants to punch something when he breaks down again. Instead, he clings on as Aziraphale holds him tightly and soaks in the soothing noises his angel is making. In the time it takes Crowley to realize he won’t be able to speak for a while longer, Aziraphale has realized what he would have said.

“Oh,” he breathes, horror thick in his voice. “Oh, Crowley,  _ no, _ my love, my dearest one…  _ no. _ ” He shifts Crowley up, settles him upright in his lap so his head is draped over Aziraphale’s shoulder, weightless and secure. One of Aziraphale’s hands is in his hair, the other tracing long, heavy lines along his spine, and Aziraphale’s lips are right by his ear. “You are my  _ everything, _ Crowley, I would never—oh, dearheart. I’m so sorry.”

He starts to press kisses to Crowley’s cheek, his ear, his hair, anywhere he can reach. “I love you,” he whispers in between kisses, relentless. Constant.

“Never again,” he says suddenly. Crowley starts and hiccups, the rhythm of his crying interrupted. He has rarely heard Aziraphale speak with such ferocity. And never in regards to  _ him. _ “Never again, Crowley, I swear it, I promise you _ , _ I will never hurt you again. Never, darling, not anymore. I won’t be a coward when it comes to you, I’ll never turn you away. I’ll never say you aren’t the most important thing to me. You are, Crowley, you are, you always have been, and I’m—I’m so  _ sorry, _ love, I’m sorry I ever made you think you weren’t.”

“...was just a dream,” Crowley manages to say into Aziraphale’s shoulder. He’s so tired.

“It wasn’t, though,” Aziraphale says sadly, still petting Crowley’s hair steadily. “I may not have been as cruel as… but I have been cruel. To you, my love, and that was horrible of me.”

“You had to. ‘Cos, with Heaven and Hell ‘n all. Wasn’ safe.”

“It wasn’t fair, either. Not to you.”

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’ll think about this more in the morning and have enough energy to get somewhere with it. But for the moment, Crowley snuggles into Aziraphale’s neck and hums against his skin. “‘m okay now,” he says. And held close in Aziraphale’s arms, it feels like he is.

Aziraphale presses a last kiss to Crowley’s temple before digging his own nose into Crowley’s hair. Molded together, fitted perfectly against each other, Crowley finds himself dozing. Or maybe he’s just so warm and safe his thoughts have quieted, like a volume control turned low.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he turns his face out of Aziraphale’s shirt. “C’n we go back t’ bed now?” he mumbles.

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Mhm. ‘m not gonna sleep. But ‘s too cold in here.”

That startles a laugh out of Aziraphale, and earns Crowley another kiss. “Alright, then, my love. Back to bed we go.”

He moves to untangle them. Lazy but still swift, Crowley catches his wrist before he can be moved off Aziraphale’s lap.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“Will you carry me?”

Aziraphale leans back down to kiss his forehead. There is so much love in the gesture Crowley thinks he’s going to melt, going to bleed out from too much concentrated happiness. “Anything for you, my heart,” Aziraphale whispers into his hair, and Crowley only barely clings as he is carried safely back to their bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning description:  
> -vague mentions of pain  
> -disembodied hands  
> -a dark elevator largely out of Crowley’s control  
> -dream!Aziraphale verbally abusing Crowley, all in the vein of “you’re a demon, why would I care about you?”  
> -after waking up, Crowley goes into a panic attack
> 
> Everything listed here occurs within Crowley’s nightmare; it does not happen in reality, and he is thoroughly comforted for all of it. Happy ending all the way!


End file.
